


My whole world, it's just you

by Ramen (BlushingTeddybear)



Series: InspiroBot collabs [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingTeddybear/pseuds/Ramen
Summary: Sylvain and Dedue got married after the war, and Sylvain is positively enjoying his new life in the countryside.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Dedue Molinaro
Series: InspiroBot collabs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789399
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	My whole world, it's just you

**Author's Note:**

> I played a bit with the InspiroBot [here](https://inspirobot.me/) and... actually got inspired by some of the quotes I got so I decided to write some stuff, like a challenge to myself of some sort. So here's the first one!!!
> 
> The quote I used for this one is a surprise in the end notes ;^)
> 
> As always, you can find me on Twitter on my [special Sylvain account](https://twitter.com/sylvgautier)

Sylvain was used to noisy places. Be it the Gautier estate, the Academy, even the makeshift camps in the middle of the forest where they were supposed to keep quiet, all the places Sylvain had knew were crowded with people left and right in a tumult that never really ceased.

It was one of the numerous reasons he went with Dedue once everything was settled. He wanted peace, quietness, to enjoy his husband’s presence without anyone else to disturb them. He’d endured decades of incessant brouhaha, he truly felt it was more than time for him to retire away from all of it.

He tidied his desk for the last time. The same desk his father sat at, and his own father before him. Sylvain didn’t feel any nostalgia nor sadness as he left the keys to his successor—a distant cousin who seemed to have more Srengi blood in her veins than his side of the family. He didn’t feel any of those as he rode all the way to Duscur either. No, there was no room for sadness or regret in his heart, for it was already bursting with the overflowing joy and anticipation of being reunited with his beloved.

He already had the occasion to visit Dedue’s homeland, and the village he used to live in with his family. Duscur was still in the process of being restored, though Dimitri’s diligence made things easier and allowed the people of Duscur to regain full sovereignty of their land.

Most of the country had been reconstructed by the time Sylvain could finally, finally leave, and emotion swelled in his chest at the sight of children happily running through the streets of the capital.

The road to Dedue’s village offered a breathtaking view, nothing the likes of what he was used to see in Gautier. Green fields dotted with colourful wild flowers stretching under the horizon, beaches covered with pebbles Sylvain knew were smooth and shiny, little jewels the nature gifted to those who deserved them. He knew he had arrived at destination when he heard waves crashing against the shore and the very singular melody of fishers singing their prayers for a good catch. 

He settled with Dedue at his home, a modest cottage about twenty minutes by foot from the fish market. Despite growing up in a fishing village, he had preferred staying on land and cultivating his own vegetables, making a living off selling a good portion of them at the weekly market in town. The garden’s maintenance was an everyday chore and Sylvain was more than happy to do his part. Digging the soil and spending the whole day weeding kept his arms and shoulders in relative good shape, though Dedue’s cooking quickly got the better of his once slim waist.

For the better, Sylvain thought, basking in the afternoon sun, the soft light reflecting in the jewel dangling from his left ear. Though he may have been a little bit self-conscious of his weight at first, he relished in the meaning it held.

Peace.

Serenity.

Love.

Everyday he was reminded how blessed he was with his new life. Falling asleep to the song of cicadas, waking up to the rooster’s call. As if the nature itself blessed them in their union.

Dedue was a man of few words himself, but Sylvain found he didn’t mind it. He could hold every one of them preciously close to his heart, remember Dedue’s vows on the day of their wedding whilst his husband was in town and Sylvain was tending the garden.

He had noticed, after a few months, that all the little noises he could hear from the wilderness, Dedue’s hum in the kitchen, the loud purr of Mila in his lap, they all filled the silence in a way he loved. No loud chatter or incessant nagging. They lulled him into the blissful tranquility he’d never thought he deserved before.

Even after all those years, Dedue’s gaze still did things to him, today just happened to be no exception. They were sitting on the porch at an hour where the sun hadn’t died down yet. Fresh out of the bath, Dedue was busy drying Sylvain’s unruly locks with a towel they’d been gifted by a village woman on their wedding day.

His head thrown back, dusk tinting the freckles of his throat in gold, the redhead was watching his husband at work, feeling the powerful hands massage his scalp with the delicate force Sylvain only knew of Dedue. Dark amber lost in a verdant sea, Sylvain stared, maybe a minute too long, until one of those hands came to cup his jaw.

“Are you alright, Sylvain?” Dedue asked, and his voice gently dragged him out of his daydreams.

Sylvain leaned into the touch, nuzzled the palm with soft kisses.

“Mhm, just admiring the most handsome man of all Fódlan and Duscur reunited.” He grinned as Dedue chuckled. “What? I’m only telling the truth!”

“Allow me to disagree. I know who that man is and he’s right there.”

And with a mischievous smile — Sylvain _loved_ that smile — Dedue leaned in a kiss, chastely brushing their lips together the same way they would do everyday. His thumb was caressing Sylvain’s cheek and the redhead relished in the tender gesture, in the large hand keeping his head tilted back. Affection swelled in his chest in a rush, his love overflowing and spilling out of his heart and he needed to act on it.

He loved how naturally he could turn around, straddle Dedue’s lap, as if he was meant to belong there. It was now his turn to cup his husband’s face with both hands, feel the scratch of his stubble under his fingers as he traced the line of Dedue’s jaw.

Dedue’s hands covered his in their entirety, making his heart thump faster. Every time he found himself in those arms, Sylvain felt like a teenager all over again, bursting with hormones and inexperienced sensibility. Well, he _was_ experienced, and he actually thanked his years of philandering, for he would just combust under Dedue’s touch without their wisdom.

His kisses were less continent. Sylvain liked to show off a bit. To introduce some tongue action, have Dedue open bare under him, feel him sigh when he let him breathe again. Every single cicada suddenly turned silent, at least for Sylvain’s ears, the very moment Dedue gasped when his bottom lip were tugged by teasing teeth.

Sylvain tuned out the whole world, save for Dedue. Even when the relentless screaming of bugs in autumn had abused his ears all night long, even when the marketplace’s hustle had given him a migraine, even when his head was full of all the words he’d heard in his life, empty compliments and poorly veiled threats, everything would clear the instant Dedue opened his mouth.

He wanted to hear more from him. To coax all the beautiful sounds he’s heard come out of his mouth since they’d started this relationship. Sylvain deepened his kiss even more with a hunger Dedue was now familiar with, stroking his husband’s palate with his tongue and drinking the moan he got out of it. 

“I love you so much,” he managed to breathe, his lips still ghosting over Dedue’s.

The hands he loved so much had left Sylvain’s and were roaming up and down his sides, his back, careful as to not accidentally tickle him, but also setting him on fire, each movement spreading Dedue’s warmth all over his body.

Sylvain parted their lips again, panting, as his husband’s hands settled, one on his lower back, the other on his neck.

“Dedue,” he sighed, “please, can I…?”

He rolled his hips against Dedue’s, the insistence with which he ground against the thick thigh telltale of his intent. The hand at his neck squeezed ever so slightly, and the man’s grin made him burn with anticipation.

“Of course,” his husband whispered, pulling Sylvain closer to him just for his lips to reach his ear. “Show me how much you want it,” he whispered again, his voice low and thick, warm honey drowning him.

The redhead ground against Dedue’s thigh even harder at that.

Usually he was the one with the filthy words, both degrading and liberating for both of them, and Dedue had had some trouble following him at first, that much was true. But before Sylvain noticed it, he had learned all the expressions that drove him hotter and more desperate, and relished in using Sylvain’s own weapons against him.

People often misread Dedue as aloof and distant, just because he liked to keep his words to himself. Only Sylvain knew how cunning he could get, how much he loved to tease him until Sylvain was reduced to nothing more but a messy puddle, a blissfully oversensitive rag doll in his hands. This side of Dedue belonged to Sylvain, and only him. It fired something in his very core.

Pride. Arrogance. Desire. The terrible need to monopolise Dedue even further, to be all his husband can see the same way he’s all Sylvain can hear.

The numerous kisses Dedue peppered all around and on his ear didn’t help with any of that. Every sigh directly injected in his brain made him buck his hips, grind faster, moan at the perfect friction of his clothes against the hard, pulsing nub between his thighs.

Dedue’s hand gripped his hips just the way he liked it, kept him close and didn’t leave him any room to retreat whatsoever. Not like Sylvain would anyway. He nuzzled his face into his husband’s neck, breathing in the scent of soap and the natural musk that drove him crazy, his arms around Dedue’s neck, an anchored ship rocking back and forth under the relentless assault of the sea.

Dedue bit his earlobe and the ship tipped over with a moan, one final grind making Sylvain tremble as he rode the waves of his orgasm. The hand on his hips left to stroke his back, soothe all the nerves set aflame by the redhead’s little exercise. 

Sylvain stilled, still panting in Dedue’s lap, his hold around his husband’s shoulders not faltering in any way. 

“Good boy,” Dedue praised with a kiss on his cheek, a weak whine escaping Sylvain.

They stayed just like this, entwined on the porch as the sun came down, the redhead hot and soaked on his husband’s thigh and Dedue holding him close, safe, loved.

Only when Sylvain had entirely come down from his high did he notice the apparent bulge tenting Dedue’s sleeping pants. Pink rose to his cheeks as all the possible ways the night could end flooded his mind and he gingerly looked up to meet the green eyes he adored so.

“Hey, want me to lend you a hand with this? Well, a hand or anything else really.”

Dedue laughed, wholeheartedly. A melody Sylvain could never tire of, never.

“I’d appreciate that,” he answered with another kiss, “but inside. The night is setting and it’ll get cold.”

Sylvain hummed at Dedue’s wisdom. He, too, would rather go back to their bed and take the proper time to savour his love’s body, to spoil him rotten until they were both too exhausted to even clean their mess.

Sounded like a great plan.

He got up first, freeing Dedue from his hold, and offered his hand. He still felt feverish, the intense heat from earlier not quite dissipated yet. And as Dedue took it, it flooded Sylvain’s system again, making his crotch throb with anticipation.

Dedue’s — his husband’s — hand still in his, he hurried inside, leaving behind them the insistent cry of cicadas in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> "Living in the country can be quite a turn on"


End file.
